


Void Moon

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Abusive Parents, Bad Decisions, Breaking and Entering, Bruises, Choking, Creampie, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Finger Sucking, Homicide, Innovative Lube, Jealousy, Kidnapping, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Loss of Virginity, Manipulation, Marking, Master/Slave, Minor Character Death, Obedience, Obsessive Behavior, Ownership, Possessive Behavior, Scents & Smells, Stalking, Theft, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Fingering, Yandere Akashi Seijuurou, Yikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 17:35:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20679266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: "Money means little to Akashi but he knows full-well that his wealth gives him power and influence over the rats that clamber through the iron and splintered wood of desolation. Even if it means biting the necks of their own and spreading disease through the higher ranks that keep them fed, nothing will outweigh the predominant passions of prosperity and power." Akashi quickly becomes obsessed with you after discovering your true personality and does everything he can to make you his.





	Void Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission request with a pretty intricate narrative. All events in this story are purely fictional and not condoned by me in any way. I hope you enjoy it!

Akashi looks across the classroom, his gaze evocative of the same blankness he holds inside. He's staring into the sun but he's not really _seeing _the blinding orb. He's heard this lesson a thousand times before, or so it seems, and he's so far beyond the limits of his coursework that he can't even find it in himself to pretend at interest. His eyes burn and the lines of his lashes are becoming damp with moisture, but he would rather lie in the ashes of his sight than close his eyes against the light. It's irony at its finest, he thinks, considering how long he's been conspiring with the dark.

Akashi thinks that if his apathy for the present division is manifesting his current emotion, his expression must appear comical to anyone who bothers to look at him. However, when he catches movement out of the corner of his vision, suddenly feeling the familiar prickle of eyes upon him, he slides his gaze over to the source only to find you smiling at him. His mouth twitches involuntarily and his lips pull into a crooked smile before he has time to retract the gesture.

He's spoken to you several times before, most times in passing, brief and disconnected conversations that hold no real meaning—but for some reason, it's enough for Akashi to know that you're what he's been looking for. He stares into the bright of your eyes until your cheeks become flushed and you have to look away. He lets his gaze linger a moment longer before he finally tilts his head back and glances up to the small fissure in the ceiling where the light bleeds in. He wets the dry cracks in his lips and begins to think about world-shaking conceptions and profound convictions.

When the bell finally sounds Akashi slides out of his seat fluidly, his belongings already tight against his chest. There's a clock inside of his head, a metronome that beats alongside his heart in perfect time with the day's direction. He's memorized it all: the routines, the possible outcomes, the chaos of happenstance, while craving impulsiveness and shaping wishful thoughts that always seems to lead to some sense of evaporation and more notably, disappointment.

There's only one thing that has ever stretched past the boundaries of Akashi's mental acuity. A rare group of stars among the constellations inside his mind, the only series of dots he can't quite connect. They're too bright and if he stares at the aberration for too long, the colors leave him blind. It feels like a myth, something cosmological and illusory, and Akashi has no interest in astrology; he's no historian, nor is he a poet. He's sure of his capabilities—never a doubt in his mind—but he sees no function in fighting for senseless hallucinations.

That is until he spends the better part of next week getting to know you better.

It's not by his choice but the professor's decision to pair you up for a project Akashi has little interest in. It's not for the work or the subject matter, though, he can think of far more riveting topics to study. He's not fond of working in pairs, his perfectionism too governing to appreciate the help of another. He has yet to find someone who meets his standards, set so high he would fall to his death if he positioned his principles any closer to the sky.

However, for the first time in his life, despite your human flaws and natural imperfections, Akashi wants to get closer to something. He can feel the venom dripping in his mouth, thirsty for the truth sliding through the blood in your veins. He asks you questions while he covertly oversees the majority of the project, almost desperate to learn everything he can about you should you disappear when everything is said and done. At least, that was his train of thought at the start of the week—by Friday, he's derailing, hell-bent on making you a centerpiece in his very mixed-up world.

By Saturday night Akashi's losing sleep—too trapped in a sticky web of wonder to give into slumber. He thinks about the way you smell, your lips on his cold neck, your fingers against his skin. He wonders what you taste like and how you'd look spread out beneath him, but not all of his thoughts are so perverse. He mulls over how his attraction for you started, making him wonder who you are and where you've been. He wants to know your likes and dislikes, your ideals and ambitions—if he's being honest with himself, he wants to know every part of you.

Sunday comes and goes like a candle in the wind and Akashi is glad for it because he's tired of waiting to see you. But when Monday comes, he finds your seat empty and every bone in his body weakens with defeat. The day passes like the slow drip of molasses and Akashi is quick to mistake your absence with weakness. He finds himself growing angry as the day stretches on, unable to detract from the interest of your whereabouts. Nonetheless, innocent thought after violent cerebration, he has no way of contacting you so he goes home with fire in his veins and ash in his lungs.

He tries to convince himself that what you do is none of his business, that you don't owe him anything, but the naked truth feels wrong all across his skin, written in facts he doesn't agree with. He wants to mix logic with understanding but no matter how hard he tries he can't fit the pieces together. He goes to bed with an assembly of thoughts scrawled across the skin beneath his eyelids like the inky notes on the sheet music next to his dusty violin. He dreams about red skies and craggy jigsaw puzzles and an ocean of burning stars. He tries to untangle the Stellar Strings in the Milky Way only to get enmeshed in the arms of your embrace. You're taking up every inch of his head and it should bother him but he's more than willing to let you run over his thoughts and drip down his skin.

When he wakes up Tuesday morning, long before the ominous knell of his alarm, he realizes that he's desperately obsessed with you.

The morning plays out in the same way it always does—in a physical sense—methodical and ritual. Mentally, Akashi's thoughts are an amalgamation of judicious reasoning and demented reflection, racing through his mind like a whip on a horse's back. A part of himself wants to seize the reins and imbue his other half with the knowledge of what should happen if he breaks free. Yet, the darker parts of him already know what's bound to happen and he has little concern for the outcome.

He's building a house of cards on a frame of bones.

Akashi leaves his home before his father has a chance to talk to him, offering a believable excuse to his chauffeur about extra coursework and laying new groundwork for the basketball team. He slips into the backseat without further ado and hides behind a book to fend off the possibility of conversation. When close to school, Akashi orders the imposing man behind the wheel to pull over so he can walk the rest of the way without appearing overly ostentatious. He slips out of the backseat and slings his bag over his shoulder, forgetting the driver as soon as his feet hit the well-traveled pavement.

To his surprise, Akashi spots you standing outside the front gate with a small group of friends, a smile as bright as the sun on your glossy lips. He presses himself against the stone fence that edges the school's acreage, a primary element of Rakuzan's history, there since the beginning. He makes himself as small as possible while he watches you at a distance. The girl to your right sneakily plucks a flower from a large planter near an iron gate and tucks it behind your ear. You giggle and the intonation is like a perfect harmony to Akashi's ears, a sound he wants to learn by heart and extemporize a composition for. Jealousy, however, cuts into the song playing in his head like a lack of rosin on bow hair, screeching violently and dissonant.

He waits until two of the girls disband and he feels it's safe to approach you without rousing too much suspicion. He steps back onto the center of the sidewalk, crushing the stubborn weeds that have grown through the cement cracks beneath his feet. He walks with measured patience but his heart is thrumming with anticipation.

You look in his direction before he's within reach and meet his sun-kissed gaze, burning bright like the flames of lithium and sodium. You greet him with a smile that Akashi can only return, which makes approaching you much easier than he expected.

“Good morning, ____. I didn't expect you to be here this early,” Akashi says, his tone even and smooth.

“Morning, Akashi-kun,” is your reply, infused with warmth Akashi doesn't feel he deserves but appreciates nonetheless. “My friends and I just wanted to talk about some things...” Your cheeks flush and you reach up to tuck a stray section of hair behind your ear. “Us otaku can run on about our hobbies endlessly, you know.”

Akashi allows an impromptu smile but he's currently far more interested in the ring of purple he glimpsed beneath the cuff of your shirt sleeve than your hobbies. He keeps his composure and pretends at ignorance, shelving his curiosity for later in lieu of disturbing still waters. “I was wondering if we could discuss a few things about our project,” Akashi begins, his gaze briefly flickering over to the remaining girl standing by your side. She seems to get the hint immediately and tells you that she'll meet up with you later before quickly shuffling off.

“What is it that–”

Akashi takes you by the wrist and tugs you out of the direct line of sight, should anyone look outside, the abrupt action silencing the rest of your sentence. His fingers are cool against your skin and he's pushing up your shirt sleeve before you can issue any protest.

“Who did this to you?” he asks, his voice icier than he's heard in a long time. He thinks that he should have blanketed some of the frost in his tone but his patience is wearing thin and he doesn't want to skate around the issue.

Your eyes are wide with surprise, your mouth slack on the words that died on your lips. Akashi smooths his thumb over a bruise and the gesture seems to tug you back to the present moment. You press moisture into your lips and take a breath as if you're trying to formulate some kind of excuse for the contusions darkening your skin.

“No one,” you answer, too quick and unsteady. “I was riding my bike yesterday and I didn't notice a stick in my path until it was too late.” You carefully brush back the front section of your hair and reveal an angry-looking bruise to Akashi, far worse than the one on your wrist. “See, I landed on some rocks when I fell off. That's why I wasn't at school. My mom wanted to make sure that I didn't have a concussion or something.” You laugh but the composition is completely different than the melody Akashi heard earlier.

The story might be believable if it wasn't Akashi you were telling it to, but with his abilities, he's able to see through the lie as if it were made from glass. Moreover, he's walked the same avenues of corruption so many times before that he could run them blindfolded and backward. Nevertheless, Akashi pretends to buy the story for the time being. He drags his fingers over the back of your hand and offers you a consolatory smile.

“Be more careful next time. I think scars are an interesting addition to the human body but you could have really hurt yourself.” Akashi lowers your hand and lets his own fall limp against his side. “You're one of the few people who treat me normally. I don't want anything to happen to you.”

You stare at him as an expression of concern overtakes your features and your thoughts become visibly disorganized behind your eyes. “Why wouldn't I treat you normally? I'll admit that you're a bit different at times, but that's what I like about you. It makes you interesting, not like everyone else. Besides, isn't there a saying about all geniuses being a bit crazy?” Akashi narrows his eyes and wrinkles his brow thoughtlessly, making you laugh and gently push at his shoulder. “I don't think you're crazy, Akashi-kun. I'm just trying to make a point.”

Akashi feels the beginnings of tension subside and his shoulders relax. He tilts his head back, suddenly aware that the radiance of the sun has disappeared. He blinks up at the sky and frowns. “We should get inside. Unless you want to risk spending the rest of the day in wet clothes.”

You wrinkle your nose and shake your head in unnecessary affirmation. “Being wet for the whole day sounds pretty miserable to me,” you tell him with an air of casualness that quickly blossoms into a deep shade of humiliation that spreads across your cheeks. “Rain is a real drag when you have classes to sit through.” The words tumble past your lips before you have a chance to call them back, wishing that you'd just stayed quiet and let the whole thing die.

Akashi smiles to himself and pretends not to notice the innocent insinuation as he rounds the corner of the stone wall and passes through the gates. “Come on, ____,” he calls when he doesn't hear the echo of your footsteps. He plays at courtesy but what he really wants is to walk next to you. But even considering your quick recovery, the path leading up to the school isn't half as long as Akashi wants it to be and you're quick to go your separate ways.

He eagerly anticipates when he'll see you again but the minutes on the clock tick by so slowly he wishes he'd stolen you away when he had the chance. He's never skipped school, never even entertained the idea, but if it meant that he could spend the day with you, he'd bring the idea to fruition in a heartbeat. Now, he's stuck moving through an estuary of honey and broken timepieces, biting his nails down to the quicks as he pines for your company.

Akashi sees you again before he expects it, in the hallway between classes, but you're not alone. Mayuzumi is standing next to your locker and despite his blank-eyed stare and deadpan expression, you're laughing. Something sharp lances through the beating of his heart and he's so unfamiliar with the feeling that he wonders if he's just been stabbed. He's experienced the agonies of jealousy before, many times, but this is something else entirely. Akashi tries to parse the emotions swarming in his veins like parasites thirsty for his blood while simultaneously ignoring the urge to confront Mayuzumi. It's not clear which is tugging at his heartstrings more—a tossup really—the war between understanding and temerity.

Akashi turns sharply in an attempt to ignore what could generate disaster and takes a different route to his next class. He steps mindlessly over the threshold and sets his belongings down on his desk before sliding into his seat. He closes his eyes and exhales a slow breath, keen to understand when he started treating your existence as religion. He slides a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and runs his fingers over the thin bracelet he slipped off your wrist earlier. It seems to allay his rabid thoughts for which he's grateful. He lets the chain go and places his hands on his desk, needing to pour his focus into something other than you.

When the hour comes and he's finally graced with your presence, he feels as if it's the first time he's been able to breathe properly since his meeting with you this morning. You smile at him from across the room and Akashi feels pleasure slide through his veins and down to the very marrow of his bones. He smiles back, the gesture coming to him far easier than it had before. He doesn't wait for the sounding instruction at the head of the room before he slides your desk over next to his own. To the rest of the room, it's nothing unusual for the apt pupil to want to start working immediately. But to Akashi, he couldn't care less about the project.

Despite Akashi's mind, avid and ardent, he plays the part and holds his arsenal of personal questions until the period is halfway through. He doesn't want to appear overzealous, unwilling to take any risks that might reveal his aggression. He wants to close the distance between you, not drive a wedge into the volatile space.

You've just finished telling him a story about a venomous mamushi in your backyard when he decides now is as good a time as any to surreptitiously slip in his discourse.

“You should have called Mayuzumi, I believe he once told me that he's good with snakes.” Akashi jots something down on his paper by means of necessity and waits for your reply.

“I didn't know that. I don't think he's ever mentioned it.” Your answer is innocent and Akashi is pleased to know that you're not drawing suspicion from his fictitious statement.

“How long have you been friends?” Akashi asks, the wealth of day-long curiosity filling up his chest ready to explode.

You seem to mull over the question, tapping a pencil against the lips Akashi has become so desperate to feel against his own. “I think it's been just over a year now...” you speculate, lifting your shoulders in the barest hint of a shrug. “We had a few elective courses together last year and I would often run into him in the library. It seems that he likes to read as much as I do.”

Akashi bites down on the inside of his cheek until he can taste the familiar tang of copper and rust. “Are you close?” he blurts, hoping that the question doesn't shatter his guise.

“I wouldn't say that,” you tell him, taking a note of your own. “We have a mutual interest in some things and I would call him a friend, but he's really hard to get close to. I'd imagine that you're closer to him than I'll ever be.”

Akashi feels the tight coil in his stomach begin to unwind but then you continue with something that makes it twine around his intestines even tighter than before.

“He knows a few things about me that no one else does. It was by coincidence, really, but I trust him not to tell anyone.” You tilt your head in Akashi's direction and cast him a look of vague concern. “Am I stupid to believe that?”

Akashi worries his bottom lip between his teeth and stares down at the white sheet in front of him, the ink spilling across its page blurring into a pool of red. He jerks violently when you place your hand on his forearm, tentative and unsure.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, unease underscoring the question.

“Yeah, sorry,” is Akashi's reply. He looks up at you and forces a smile he hopes passes as sincere. “I don't think you have anything to worry about. Mayuzumi tends to keep to himself.”

You nod but Akashi can see that you're still not entirely convinced. He parts his lips to reinforce his statement but you're reaching out to press your thumb against the bottom line of his mouth. Your fingers graze his jaw but the touch is gone before Akashi finds time to blink.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...it's just that you're bleeding,” you stammer.

Akashi quickly sweeps his tongue across his lips and smooths them together. “It's a bad habit,” he says convincingly. “I tend to bite my lip when I'm overthinking things. It's gross.”

Your laughter catches Akashi unawares and when he looks at you, it's enough to convince himself that he hasn't made any lasting errs.

“I'm not scared of a little blood, Akashi-kun. I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.” You shoot him a crooked smile before returning to your coursework.

The rest of the hour seems to evaporate and Akashi finds himself riddled with displeasure. Though, he's grateful for the idle chit-chat, unintentional confessions, and warm smiles you awarded him. They're enough to carry him through the rest of the day but when the final bell rings, he's run out of ammunition. He wants more.

He meets you at your locker and offers to walk you home, grateful to have the afternoon free of basketball practice. He's prepared to use your project as bait for your acceptance but you're quick to agree without it, _if it isn't too much trouble_. He waits for you to gather your belongings and follows your lead in the direction of your home. You converse about school and your friends, you share hobbies and interests and dislikes, touching on so many things but never the topic of your home lives. It's likely meaningless to you but to Akashi, it bears a great deal of significance. He's starting to think that you have more in common than he originally thought.

He drops you off at your front door with a smile and a flower he furtively handpicked along the way. “It was nice talking to you. I hope you'll let me do this again sometime,” he says, his cultured mannerisms breaking through the casual demeanor he presents at school.

“I'd be happy to but isn't your house across town?” Your cheeks are slightly flushed and Akashi can tell that you're not entirely comfortable with the question.

Akashi flashes you his cell phone and says: “I have my driver on speed dial. It's no trouble at all. It gives him something to do and a reason for his lofty paycheck,” Akashi quips. It's not something he would usually joke about, a point of contention if he's being honest, but for some reason, he feels like he can be himself around you.

You laugh and absentmindedly clutch your bag to your chest, the flower Akashi gave you clutched delicately between your thumb and forefinger. “All right then. We'll do this again soon.”

Akashi nods and watches you walk into your home, the shape of your silhouette branding a permanent tattoo behind his eyes. He starts to turn on his heel when he catches movement out of his periphery, the sway of a curtain falling shut over a closed window. Suddenly, all of the heat in his body turns to ice and he's rife with the same feeling he experiences when he's in his father's company. He narrows his eyes and waits for a brief moment before finally retreating, animosity climbing the branches of his small frame.

The following day, Akashi meets you at the front gate once again but this time, you're almost late and without your circle of friends. On any other day, Akashi would be happy to have you to himself but it's not your isolation that's catching his attention, it's the dark bruise on your cheek.

“What happened?” he asks, not bothering to disguise the rancor in his tone. He steps forward and grabs your wrist, his fingers digging in against your skin harder than he intends. You draw a sharp breath in between your teeth and Akashi quickly relaxes his grip. “I'm sorry,” he says, tilting his chin up to look you in the eye.

“It's okay,” you say, shaking your head. “It's really not a big deal. I should be used to it by now.” Akashi narrows his eyes, making your expression falter as panic swamps your eyes. “I mean because I'm always getting hurt! I'm such a klutz.”

“I know it's none of my business,” Akashi begins, lowering his eyes to the mottled blemish emphasizing the contour of your cheekbone. “But it looks like you're wearing someone else's bruises to me.” He releases your wrist and starts in the direction of the impressive building he's beginning to hate, and if this morning's events aren't enough to kick his day off in the wrong direction, seeing Mayuzumi waiting for you at the entrance only adds fuel to his fire. Be that as it may, he doesn't want to unravel the bandages that he's wrapped you in so he throws you a smile and tells you that he'll see you later.

He finds an empty stairwell and begins to count the hours to come on his fingertips. He calculates his steps and measures the weight of every possibility in the palms of his hands. He paces the small space and where there should be fear in the space of his heart considering the thoughts running through his head, there's only conviction. He glances out the window, phosphenes in his starry eyes. He knows that he has the initiative and the cleverness to pull this off, and he's long made up his mind to see it through in the roots of his love for you.

The escape is easier than Akashi expects it to be and no sooner than the watch on his wrist tells him that it's the beginning of his first class, he's already halfway to your house. He keeps his head held high and his pace uniform, a lifetime of grueling assistance tucked away in his back pocket. He's trained in systematic thought and concentration, and only god knows the things he's seen that he never should have. But Akashi doesn't care about denomination—god was never on his side anyway—and he cares even less about the potential trial the world could hold for his sins. He doesn't care about hell or the afterlife—the only thing that matters to him is setting you free.

Every step brings him closer to the roses outside your front door and Akashi can almost feel their thorns cutting into his palms for the future blood on his hands. He blinks against the bright of the sun and focuses on his growing resentment, so deep down in his bones it aches like a cavity. But he's kept a little piece of his past tucked beneath his skin for times like this and it's just enough to pacify the ache.

Akashi is surprised to find your back door unlocked and even more surprised to find your parents still at home when he turns the knob of some antediluvian manufacture and steps through its frame.

He sees their faces but only for a moment because he's suddenly remembering the bones and teeth of the wolves he buried in his backyard. He can't recall their shock or the sounds they made—_they couldn't have stayed silent could they?—_for the only thing he can see is red and he's hearing static in his ears again.

Akashi makes his way down a narrow hall and enters your room as if he's visited it countless times before. It's as he expects it to be but despite his predictions, he still feels the rewards of being able to stand in the center of your personal space. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He's changing like the autumn leaves, a shiver shaking through his limbs. He's fully aware of what he's done, the carnage and the utter destruction that lies just beyond the walls of your bedroom. He knows that he should feel bad, at the very least, that the guilt would be enough for most to submit to morality but Akashi isn't normal—he hasn't been for a long time. He's built himself a bed from ashes and thread high above the common ground. His lungs are filling up with fire again and he can feel spider legs moving through his icy bloodstream. But living an ordinary life was never in the cards for Akashi, and even you once said that you liked the fact that he was different. That alone is enough for him to accept the crimes that he's committed—he doesn't need to be _good_ because he's living in the light of your halo.

Akashi carefully lowers himself down on the edge of your bed and pulls his phone out of his pocket along with a small envelope wrapped in plain paper. He calls his chauffeur and speaks a message that once belonged to his father. The man on the other line understands because there's very little his father's subordinates won't do for the right price. Money means little to Akashi but he knows full-well that his wealth gives him power and influence over the rats that clamber through the iron and splintered wood of desolation. Even if it means biting the necks of their own and spreading disease through the higher ranks that keep them fed, nothing will outweigh the predominant passions of prosperity and power.

Akashi huffs a breath of disgust and pushes himself into standing. He walks over to a small table in the corner of your room and picks up a bottle of cheap perfume. He inhales the scent and a feeling of warmth spreads through the low of his abdomen. He pockets the bottle, the cap seemingly long-lost, and visits your dresser next. Despite the gravity of what he's just done, he feels that he's above prying through your intimate belongings and opens the bottom drawer. He tucks the plain envelope between layers of clothing and returns the drawer to its exact position. He doesn't know when you'll stumble upon it or if you ever will, but with the additional notion of severance, from his father and his past life, he feels somewhat sentimental.

He looks around your room one last time before he checks his watch and decides that he's spent enough time away from school. He exits your room and walks past your parents, marveling at how quickly the lifeblood of existence can slip into the dark corners of death—a lesson he learned at a very young age.

He leaves through the same door he entered and steps back out into the sun, relinquishing much more than the baby teeth he left in your dresser drawer.

His footsteps are lighter to his ears now as he lags behind a group of codeine kids. He pays little attention to what they're saying in spite of their rambunctious behavior, thoughts of you effortlessly cutting through the turbulence.

Akashi returns to school with time to spare, fading into the daily drag of students and idle chit-chat between classes. He visits the heads of the courses he missed and puts his truancy on a case of exhaustion, knowing that the evidence is palpable to sight in the dark bags under his eyes, not to mention his notable achievements and his stalwart position at the top of each class. Furthermore, if his sinister crimes should somehow come to light, his father will be an incontrovertible alibi. He's traced his tracks and clinched the catechism of his intrusive thoughts, and he feels, with confidence, that he's passed this test. His professors, as authoritarian and stringent as the rest of Rakuzan staff, exonerate his absence without question; they know the risks should they be unable to stem the tide of their star pupil or start making waves with his bloodline.

When the hour finally comes to see you again, Akashi has to bite his tongue to suppress the urge tell you what he's done. He continually steals sideways glances at the bruises on your body while wondering how many more inhabit the places he can't see. He can taste bile against the back of his tongue and feel the burn in his throat. He's beginning to feel regret for what he's done—not for the sake of decency or the ferocity of his mien, but for not taking the time to make them _suffer_ for hurting you.

His emotions fill the gaps between the thoughts in his brain and when the class begins to stir with today's conclusion, Akashi inwardly curses himself for trading his time with you for superfluous rumination. You ask him if he's okay and he gives you a flimsy excuse for his abstraction. He offers his apologies and you look at him like he's delirious before telling him that he has nothing to be sorry for.

He watches you turn away and wishes that he could walk you home, to be there when you finally taste freedom, something Akashi himself has always longed for. However, between basketball practice and student council meetings—along with his earlier absence—he can't find the time.

The afternoon ends on the berm of a bitter pill but Akashi succeeds in his tasks with the same cohesion of esteem and force he utilizes each day. It's exhausting and he wonders what his life would be if he were more like the average students, less fixated on excellency and more focused on _living_. However, he doesn't let the thought take shape because he's afraid of what the truth might do to the future he's lost more than sleep over.

When he arrives back at home his chauffeur greets him with a curt nod. Akashi reads the message clearly and wastes no time getting to his bedroom. Once inside, he places his schoolbag by his desk, strips out of his jacket, and transfers a large sum of money into the technical hands of the distinguished gentleman palliating his crimes.

He loosens the charcoal tie around his neck and undoes several buttons of his shirt before flopping onto goose-down and satin pillows. He stares at the ceiling for a long time and wonders if you've started to question the eerie silence of your home yet. Though, Akashi recognizes the fact that he knows very little about your parents' previous schedules, and whether you've ever been left alone for periods of time without notice.

Akashi wishes he could call you but he doesn't want to arouse suspicion, so he throws himself deeper into his music and studies until one of the live-in maids brings him his dinner. He eats in silence and takes the gesture as a sign of his own father's absence, likely due to a business conference or better yet, a corporate celebration for pulling off yet another classic Ponzi scheme.

He spends another night living in the belly of the beast but he's grateful for the nonappearance of the demons and the monsters and the devil himself he's usually surrounded by.

For the first time in what feels like months, Akashi gets a full night's rest without interruption.

Thursday's morningtide rolls in and Akashi struggles to get out of bed despite feeling well-rested. He shuffles across his floor, his hair sticking up in ways that could contend with Kuroko's. He tugs open his floor-length curtains and squints out into the sun's first blush. He blinks several times and forgoes trying to stifle a yawn as he makes his way over to his bathroom, the heat and sweat on his skin demanding a shower.

When finally ready to face the humdrum labors of the day, Akashi plucks a still-warm muffin off of the kitchen table and heads out into the inception of a humid morning. When he arrives at school, he dusts invisible crumbs from the front of his shirt and steps through the front gate with heightened confidence. His gaze roves the grounds surreptitiously, and as if his eyes are made from lodestone and you of iron, he finds you standing just to the left of the main entrance. His heart pounds in his chest but he can't parse excitement from jealousy because you're not alone. A thin boy, his hair a familiar shade of gray, stands poised next to you.

Akashi keeps a metrical pace despite the violent poetry writing itself out in the corners of his mind. He watches you hand a sealed envelope to Mayuzumi and he feels his heart skip a beat but the color and shape of the paper enclosure are all wrong. He exhales a breath of relief for what-could-have-been but the remedy is short-lived because Akashi now demands to know what Mayuzumi has that he doesn't.

He waits until his teammate disappears into the building before approaching you but it's obvious that whatever you gave to Mayuzumi is an ace and not in spades. He passes off his rigid posture in the name of restless sleep when you raise the subject and quickly deviates the conversation by asking about your night.

“It was nice,” you tell him, the smile on your lips spreading to light behind your eyes. “I had the opportunity to catch up on some things that I haven't been able to. What about you? Other than restless sleep, did you have a good night?”

Akashi moves beside you as you begin walking toward the school's front doors. “I suppose. My nights are pretty unvarying but when things are insignificant, they tend to be best.”

“Why's that?” you ask, and it's only then that Akashi realizes he's shared something with you a bit too close to home—so to speak.

“I'd rather not say, at least not here,” Akashi answers tentatively. “Maybe we could meet up at lunch?”

“Sure,” is your answer, simple but golden. “I'd like to get to know more about you. How about we meet–”

“In the Koto and Ikebana club room,” Akashi interjects. “I know no one will be there then and I don't feel comfortable with anyone other than you listening in on what happens in my life beyond these walls.”

You appear momentarily taken aback by his sudden interruption but the surprise quickly melts into an expression of understanding.

“Okay. I'll meet you then,” you tell him, and without further discussion, you leave Akashi to ride out his morning classes without the thing he wants the most.

Akashi turns in the direction of his first class when something akin to hesitation sinks to his bones, a presage of luck that urges him to visit Mayuzumi's locker. He changes direction and begins walking down the hall when a voice in his head tells him to keep going, further and further until he's entering the basketball club's locker room. He glances around the empty space and when he realizes he's alone with nothing more than a leaky shower faucet, he makes his way over to Mayuzumi's personal locker and easily tugs it open. Akashi has seen the inside of the metal space many times before and nothing seems particularly out of the ordinary. There's a neat stack of books at the bottom of several methodically placed items of clothing. Akashi drags his gaze up to the top shelf where a single pair of gym shoes is nestled between the compartment walls, and just as he's about to denominate his search unsuccessful, he sees the very corner of an envelope sticking out from beneath the left sneaker.

Akashi tugs at the paper with unnecessary force and is grateful to find that the envelope is still sealed. He tears it open and pinches the folded note inside between his fingers, plucking it out hastily, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes scan the page with the speed of an adept reader and by the time he reaches the bottom, his veins are on fire and there's blood on his tongue. He crumples the paper in his fist, no longer interested in preserving its original condition. He closes his eyes and counts to ten, trying to placate the anger and jealousy that's pervading his body. After a moment of warring with himself, Akashi smooths out the note and places it back into its envelope. He stuffs the letter inked with words of adoration and expressions of gratitude into his back pocket and slams the locker door shut.

Akashi exits the locker room cloaked beneath the guise of his former self but if one were to dare look closely, they wouldn't miss the black blood behind the enmity in his eyes and the soft crook of his mouth. He tells himself that lunch isn't far off and that he'll confront you then when he's suddenly stricken with a better idea.

* * *

It wasn't difficult to convince you outside when you met Akashi at the club room you agreed upon—decorum and charisma are a deadly combination when mixed with manipulation, and Akashi is quite skilled in the art of strategy. However, you hadn't been so compliant to get into the backseat of the gloss-black limo parked just beyond the visual reaches of the school's windows. Still and all, Akashi dug a little deeper and no sooner than he prevailed upon your weaknesses did you become a pawn on his chessboard.

Now you're sitting on the edge of your bed, brow wrinkled above an expression of trepidation and dismay. You fold your hands in your lap and feel the corners of your mouth drag into a frown.

“Akashi-kun, what are we doing here?” you ask carefully, eyes following him as he paces the length of your room.

Akashi spares you a glimpse but it's fleeting, and he's pulling the bottom line of his mouth between the bright edges of his teeth and tugging at his hair before you decide to press him further.

“What's _wrong_? I've never seen you act like this before.” You can feel Akashi's madness stirring in your blood and it's not a feeling you want to get used to. You cross your arms over your chest and rub your palms over the gooseflesh prickling your skin. “Do you need me to call for help?” you ask when he doesn't respond, lifting yourself from the edge of your mattress.

“No,” Akashi barks, panicked and severe. He rushes over to where you're standing and pushes you back down on to the bed. “I don't want anyone knowing that I'm here.”

You raise your eyebrows and bite down on the corner of your cheek. “Why _are_ we here?” you try, concern softening the shores of your tone.

Akashi opens his mouth but closes it almost immediately. He draws the folded envelope out of his back pocket and tosses it down on the bed next to you. “That's why we're here,” he tells you bitterly. “We're _here_ because you're driving me crazy.”

You knit your brows together as you reach for the creased paper but your countenance falters when you recognize the note inside. “How did you get this?” Your voice is as shaky as you feel and you're starting to question your actions. “Did Mayuzumi say something to you? It's not what it sounds like,” you tell him, fingers trembling on the paper in your hand. “I don't even know if they're truly gone—it's just that, I confessed to him and then all of a sudden I come home to an empty house and...”

“It was me,” Akashi says, his tone flat and cold. “I took care of them.” He takes a step toward you and every racing thought in your head collides with stillness. You can't process what he's saying, can't see through the haze clouding your vision. “I left school after that bruise on your cheek confirmed what I'd already surmised. I came here and entered through your back door, surprised to find both of your parents still here. I confronted them about what they'd been doing to you but I was unimpressed by their excuses.” Akashi takes another step in your direction and now you're only centimeters apart. “Mayuzumi is no killer, and even if he had taken it upon himself to save you, he doesn't have the means to cover up a double-homicide.”

You stare up at Akashi's face and into the embers burning behind his eyes. You know that any normal person would be fearing for their life right now. You know that you should be working on a plan to escape the clutches of the murderer standing so close to you that you can feel the heat coming off of his skin. But there isn't a fragment of fear in your body and when you reach out to touch him, it's not to push him away but to pull him closer.

“I had no idea that you cared so much,” you say before you wrap your arms around Akashi's slim waist and press your face against the low of his abdomen.

Akashi's body is tense and he appears to be stupefied but you hold him until you feel his limbs relax and his fingers slide along the line of your scalp. “From the moment I first saw you, I was yours and you were mine. I just didn't know it yet. I wish I would have acted sooner.” His voice is brimming with regret, an ache on his breath that ghosts the beat of your heart.

You draw your head away from his stomach and realize by the smudges on his shirt that you're crying. “I don't know how you knew or what I did to deserve your sympathy but I'll do anything I can to thank you for what you've done for me”

Akashi braces his hand at the back of your skull and carefully lowers you down against your half-made bed as he simultaneously fits his knees in against your hips. “Do you think that after all the dust has settled we can take root somewhere far away from here?” He drags his hand through the fall of your hair and up to the bruise on your cheek. He strokes his fingers over the contusion with featherlight caution and frowns. “Just the two of us forever. No one else around to tell us what we can and can't do.”

It's plain to see that his words are overflowing to create sentences from the deepest recess of his mind. His eyes are focused on your face but his thoughts are elsewhere. You reach out and circle your fingers around his wrist to gently pull him back to reality.

“I will do whatever you want me to do,” you confess, lifting your head just enough to kiss each of his fingertips in turn. “I want to belong to you.”

Akashi visibly relaxes for the first time since you arrived at your home. The sharp dig of his mouth melts into a smile indicative of his love for you and the murkiness that saturated his vision dematerializes. He ducks forward, his lips brushing against your own when he speaks. “You have no idea what it means to belong to me. Do you really think you're ready for that?”

You drape an arm around his neck and stare into his eyes with passion you can feel. “I will do _anything_ for you,” is your answer, drenched in a layer of prurience that you didn't even know you were capable of.

Akashi's mouth lifts into a wolfish grin that stirs the heat pooling between your legs. He sweeps his tongue across his lips and the action removes what's left of the gloss shining on your mouth.

“If that's true, then I want you to get out of these clothes.” Akashi presses a chaste kiss to your lips and slides a hand down over the clothed valley of your breasts. “I want to tie you up and make you my own.” He slides off of the bed and slowly backs up, deft fingers working the tie around his neck loose. “I want to dress you in new bruises and cover-up the old. I want my hands around your throat and my teeth on your skin.” He begins to undo the buttons lining the crisp shirt hugging his frame. “I'm going to work myself inside of you, nothing but skin between us. I want to fill your every corner up with me. I want to push your limits and explore your boundaries. I want to be the _only_ thing you think about.”

You lift yourself up once again and begin to work each layer of your clothing away from your skin, your head full of Akashi's desires and body hypnotized by the sound of his voice.

“That's my girl,” he praises, his eyes boring holes through the allegorical mantle of your innocence. He's stripping away the layers of your indiscretion and pulling apart the wings of the butterflies beating against your ribcage. You take a breath and make it count, not knowing when the next will follow.

The sound of Akashi's belt coming undone sends a shiver down your spine and tugs you fully away from the bed. You steal a glimpse at his skin, pale and soft but bearing the tracks of his own annals. You quickly memorize the pink shiny scar just beneath the delicate curve of his shoulder and shelve the urge to touch it for later.

When you're standing in nothing but your panties, arms folded self-contentiously across your chest, Akashi offers you a smile that calms the storm raging through every nerve in your body.

“Are you scared?” he asks, his thumb hooked beneath the waistband of his boxers.

“Not really,” you answer, the quiver in your voice belying your put-on confidence. You exhale a huff of breath that sounds like submission and lower your restless gaze to the floor. “It's just that I've never done anything like this before and...well, what if I'm terrible at it?”

Akashi shakes his head and to your surprise, he's keeping his eyes fixed on your face. “There's nothing you could do that would make this any less remarkable to me.” He closes the distance between you and curls his fingers around your hips. “All I care about is finally being able to be with you, to _feel_ you.”

“Do you think it'll hurt?” You bend the question around the shiver that runs through your teeth.

“I can't promise that it won't, but love is pain and all suffering equates to strength.” Akashi slips a finger under the elastic hugging your skin and smiles. “I'll do my best not to hurt you but it won't be anything like the pain that you've already endured.” He lifts his hand to sweep a section of hair away from your cheek. “You're already so strong.” The way he speaks the compliment lends it to equal parts praise and threat, and what should be discretion only adds to the fever turning to a fine sheen of sweat on your skin.

Akashi glances at the pile of clothing he's placed atop your dresser and seems to contemplate something for a moment, then he retrieves his belt and tie and makes his way back to you.

“May I have your hands, please?” His tone is polite but the request leaves no room for defiance, so you hold out your hands in offering with a dutiful nod and a silent tongue.

Akashi tosses his belt onto the bed and takes to wrapping the silky fabric of his tie around your wrists. You watch his fingers move with practiced precision until he knots the material and steps back to admire his work.

“You make quite a beautiful pet,” Akashi says, a smile on his face that plays with the beat of your heart.

“Is that what I am to you?” you ask, absentmindedly holding your bound hands against your chest.

“You're everything to me,” Akashi answers, his face painted in an image of solemn excitement and exaltation. “That's why I'm going to teach you a very valuable lesson.” You furrow your brow and Akashi exhales a huff of laughter. “Don't look so concerned. I promise that I won't inflict any long-lasting damage on you.” Akashi strokes the contour of your cheek with the back of his hand, then he slides his thumb across your bottom lip tenderly. “That said, I can't let your evasion go unpunished. You tried to soft-soap me into believing that you were responsible for your injuries. You lied to me about your parents and also wrote a love letter to Mayuzumi when it should have been to me.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, an unspoken gesture of unease. “I wasn't trying to deceive you deliberately. I just...I didn't want it to change things between us. I never wanted to be a thing of pity and as far as Mayuzumi-san goes, I honestly had no idea that you would go so far for me. I suppose it was a bit presumptuous of me to assume that he was the one to help me but he's the only one, or so I thought, that knew what was going on!”

Akashi traces the curve of your jaw and you can feel the barest scratch of the callouses on his fingers against your skin. “I won't be so strict with you that I'd expect you to understand my rules straight away but when I feel that I have a reason to punish you, I won't be interested in hearing your excuses. You may not readily apprehend my reasoning but I assure you that my way of thinking, along with my ability to interpret credibility from implausibility is absolute.”

Akashi watches your throat work on a hard swallow and your lips come apart. “What if, for some reason, you're wrong and I need you to know the truth?” You dampen your lips and Akashi can see that you're struggling to piece together a sentence without warranting further possible punishment.

“Give it time and you'll see that what I'm telling you is genuine. I'll know the truth without you having to tell me.” He holds your face in his hands and rests his thumbs against the hollow of your throat. “I'll be everything you need. I just need you to trust me as both your companion and your master. Can you do that for me?”

“I trust you,” you confess without pause.

Akashi tips his head forward in a small nod and leans in to fit his lips against your own in a kiss meant for lazy Sunday mornings. He kisses you slow and deep, his mouth soft and his tongue bittersweet. He presses his thumbs in against your throat as he walks you back toward the bed in an unstated demand that tells you to sit.

Akashi's head is reeling and he feels like he's chasing stairways just to fall. His heart is thrumming in his chest and every cell in his body is coming alive in his blood. He stares down at you, ready to push you to the edge but refusing to let you fly. He knows now, with undying confidence that he'll never let you go. He lowers himself down to the floor, his cool hands resting on the bends of your knees. He looks up at you beneath the long lines of his lashes and gently eases apart your legs. His eyes leave your face and you can feel your cheeks flush as he takes in the thin layer of fabric between the apex of your thighs. He ducks his head forward and you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin, but it's not enough to override the chill that wraps around your spine.

Akashi's nails gently scrape against your skin and you pin your focus to the titillating touch because the knowledge that he's pressing his face in close to your sex and breathing in your scent is almost too much to bear. His hair brushes the low of your abdomen, the color of ripe raspberries and softer than silk binding your wrists. You long to feel it between your fingers but the angle is too awkward and you're deprived of too much freedom.

“The way you smell drives me crazy,” Akashi tells you, his hands sliding along your legs to rest against the tension catching in your thighs. He lifts his head and continues his trajectory until his fingers are catching at the waistband of your panties. “I want to see more of you,” he tells you, the words slipping past his lips far simpler than what he's suggesting. He can see through the waters of your gaze, right down to the turbulence twitching through your pulse. His fingers still for a moment while he nuzzles the inside of your thigh with his cheek and nips at the sensitive tissue. “There's not a single part of you that I don't already love. There's no reason to be nervous.”

“That's easy for you to say,” you mumble, the flush on your cheeks spreading down the smooth column of your throat to spill out across your collarbones. “I don't have my face between your legs.”

Akashi chuckles and the breath of it tickles your skin and makes you squirm. “There's a first time for everything,” he quips, and his fingers begin to tug at the cotton hugging your hips. You reluctantly shift your weight until the fabric moves easily; you can feel the material slip down your legs, every stitch pushing you closer to hypersensitivity. Akashi gently lifts your feet in tandem, removing each circlet from around your ankles.

You press your thighs together and start when Akashi presses two fingers against your lips. “Don't think about what I'm doing right now. Close your eyes and open your mouth. Just relax.”

You inhale a shudder and close your eyes, your mouth falling slack like Akashi's directive is something sacred. He slides his fingers into the dark of your aperture and presses them against your tongue. You can taste the salt and heat on his skin, and you're so focused on the way he's manipulating your mouth that you don't realize how easily your knees are falling open for him.

“Good girl,” Akashi praises softly. “Just keep focusing on my fingers. I want you to get them wet for me.” His words are like a brand across your flesh, a salacious Scripture written in blood. You close your lips tight around his slow-moving digits and begin sucking in earnest, your tongue wrapping around each salt-damp knuckle in turn.

Akashi utilizes your moment of distraction to slide the index finger on his free hand up your slit. He can feel the edges of your teeth graze his skin as you're startled out of your intense haze. Your mouth comes open for a much-needed breath and Akashi slides his fingers free, trading hands to slip a slick digit past the tight boundaries of your sex. Your hips twitch and a gasp fills the room but if the look on your face and the wet that greets his touch is anything to go by, he doesn't need to ask if he's hurting you.

He fucks into you slowly and the feeling of being touched by someone else is unlike anything you expected. You forget about the awkward angle and the closeness of your bound hands and reach down to slide Akashi's short strands between your fingers.

“Have you ever touched yourself before?” Akashi asks shamelessly. He lowers his head and places a chaste kiss on your thigh, waiting for you to issue a response.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, unable to wholly shed the dregs of your self-conscious fears.

“How many fingers?” His teeth catch against your skin and when he flicks his tongue over your clit you nearly fall off the bed. Akashi chuckles, the sound low and biologically arrogant. You want to hate him for it but it only wraps around your body like rich silk. “What's the limit to your self-discovery? Two? Three? Or maybe you like to play with toys...”

You clear your throat and it shakes apart into a dry cough. You string together what can only be classified as a series of intelligible sounds until finally, you manage a coherent reply. “Three.”

Akashi thinks about pressing you further, now curious about a possible collection of lascivious paraphernalia. However, he lets the thought slip through his fingers and join the sands of time he's set aside for later.

“So you should be fine if I slip another inside,” Akashi purrs, already pushing in a second digit alongside the first. You clutch at his short strands and arch your back, hips moving on autopilot. Akashi hums and the sound of it vibrates against the back of his throat like seduction in its purest form. “You're so _tight_, ____. I love how wet you're getting for me—do you feel that?” Akashi punctuates the question with a twist of his fingers, his thumb joining the contest to rub firm circles against your throbbing clit.

“Akashi-kun,” you breathe, grinding down against his touch in an animalistic act of desperation.

Akashi scissors his fingers and works to stretch you open as the walls begin to close in around you. You're quickly losing control, shaking apart at the seams, and when Akashi pushes your limits further, working his ring finger into you with shameful ease, you fall back against the bed covers. The gravity of the pleasure surging through you tugs you into a precarious balance, legs shaking and body alight. But Akashi is undeterred by your undoing and continues to work you open in earnest. He crooks his fingers and begins fucking into you harder, dragging his touch over places you've yet to explore. He manipulates your clit and when he grazes a sensitive bundle of tissue, your back comes away from the bed and you're screaming his name.

“____...” Akashi says after a moment, drawing out your name like it's heavy on his tongue. “I want you to sit up for me.”

You open your eyes and look up at the ceiling, eyes bleary and half-lidded. Your entire body feels overtaxed and you can't seem to shake the tremble running like lightning through your veins. Akashi reaches out and hooks his fingers around the tie binding your wrists and helps guide you up and into a sitting position.

You blink several times and when the room finally pulls into focus, your eyes go straight to the dark stain of precome on the front of Akashi's boxers. You bite your lip to keep yourself from whimpering but the sound still breaks into a whine against the back of your throat.

Akashi smiles and he thinks he can still hear you saying his name on the breeze flittering through your window. He hooks his thumbs around the elastic band complimenting the sharp angle of his hip bones and shoves his boxers down to his knees. They fall to the floor and pool at his feet and you're left staring at the hard jut of his smooth cock.

“Do you have any lubrication?” Akashi asks while admiring the glossy sheen catching on his fingers.

“I don't have...” you let the sentence fall away at your feet and choke back what you can't bring yourself to say.

Akashi lifts his fingers to his lips and tentatively drags his tongue over the slick remains of your arousal. He looks up and a crooked smile plays on his lips as he spots the look of horror in your eyes. He glances around the room and no sooner than he makes his way over to your vanity is he standing back in front of you.

“This will work,” he says, unscrewing the lid to the bottle of organic coconut oil you use as part of your skin regimen. Before you have a chance to acknowledge what he's doing, he dips his fingers—the ones that have yet to be inside of you—into the slippery substance and begins smearing it over the length of his cock. “I don't want to hurt you more than necessary,” he tells you, slicking his hardness in front of you without an inkling of shame.

When satisfied, Akashi recaps the bottle and tosses it onto your bed with little care as to where it lands. “I want you to bend over the side of the bed,” he orders, rubbing the rest of the oil into his hands while he waits for you to heed his demand.

You rise from the bed on shaky legs and turn around, vulnerability crawling up your body like an unwelcome shadow. Still, you long for more, never knowing how badly you needed this until Akashi came barreling into your life.

“Place your hands flat on the bed and spread your legs for me,” Akashi commands, his fingers walking down the staircase of your spine.

You place your palms down on your covers and curl your fingers in against the fabric for some semblance of balance. Akashi's hands close on your hips, keeping you steady in your hazy state of euphoric confusion. Your arms begin to shake and you clutch the fabric tighter in your grip, embarrassed by how much your whole body is visible in its need despite just having come only moments ago. You feel like you're balanced on a line ten stories high when the head of Akashi's cock brushes against your apex, his fingers hot enough on your hips to burn your flesh.

“What do you want?” Akashi asks, adding to the humiliation buzzing in your veins like a swarm of bees.

“You know what I want,” is your reply, as quiet as your throat is dry.

“I want to hear you say it, like how I want to hear you say my name. Don't call me Akashi when we're together like this. Call me Seijūrō, or if you're so inclined” –Akashi bends forward, his cock sliding between your thighs and his lips against your ear– “you can call me Sir.”

You shudder convulsively as if you've been shocked and lower more of your weight down against the bed in an attempt to feel more of the imminent prospect between your legs.

“Tell me that you want to feel me moving inside of you. Tell me that you want me to fuck you,” Akashi whispers, his breath ghosting the shell of your ear.

“I want you to fuck me,” you manage, breath coming hard between each word. “Please, Seijūrō, Sir, I need to feel you.”

You can hear the slight hitch in Akashi's breath at the use of his given name—or perhaps the epithet—and without further hesitation, Akashi moves a hand to the base of his cock and lines himself up to your entrance. You take a deep breath and before you have the chance to let it out, Akashi pushes himself into your body.

It's not entirely pleasure but it's not all pain, and with Akashi's next thrust, your entire world is narrowed down to where you can feel the drag of his cock and the friction between your bodies. You gently push back your hips and you don't know if it's intentional, but Akashi's digging fingerprints into your skin that can be felt down to the bones beneath.

You whimper and moan and it takes far less time than you'd have expected before this experience to lose sight of pain and fall into the arms of pure unadulterated pleasure. You can already feel your body hurtling toward release but Akashi isn't willing to so readily accept your surrender. He slows his thrusts and his hands leave your hips to retrieve the belt he left on the bed. You fight to stay upright as he undulates his hips, the swollen head of his cock continuously brushing against a responsive bundle of nerves.

“You're clenching so hard around me, pet. I can feel how close you are.” Akashi exhales a shuddering breath and fits himself closer to your backside. He loops the belt around your neck and pulls it flush against your throat. “Don't you dare come until I tell you that it's okay.” He tugs the leather strap tighter to punctuate his cruel instruction, cutting off your ability to breathe momentarily.

Akashi returns a single hand to your hip and falls back into his previous rhythm. The fingers against your skin are gripping you so tightly that you're sure to have the shape of them on your complexion for a few days, at the very least. The thought spreads through your stomach and down to your sex, adding to the wet response of your arousal. Akashi fucks into you harder, the slide coming easier but still promising an evening of soreness to remind you of what happened here and how quickly your relationship transpired.

“Seijūrō,” you cry, trying to convey how quickly you're losing control over your body. “I don't know how much longer I can last,” you tell him, tears of overstimulation collecting along the lines of your lashes.

“Let me hear you beg,” is his response, collected and calm, and you hate him for his ability to uphold his composure.

You emit a cry of frustration and fall to the bend of your elbows. You press your forehead against the bed covers and forget about the makeshift leash cutting into your throat. “Please let me come. Please, Sir. I can't take it anymore. Do whatever you want to me, just please let me come!” You struggle to breathe properly and take a brief second to collect yourself before continuing. “I want to feel you come inside of me. I _need_ to feel you inside of me. Fill me up, make me yours. Just please, please let me come!”

Akashi curses and the sharp intonation feels like a whip crack against your skin. He fucks into you harder still, his rhythm becoming erratic and ravenous, until he begins to struggle to maintain his self-control.

“Come for me, ____.”

Your body breaks under the mercy of Akashi's permission and you obey with a high-pitched sob that bleeds throughout the room. Your limbs tighten and every inch of your body feels awash with pleasure, and all through your orgasm you can feel Akashi coming inside of you.

You try to breathe but you feel like you're choking, only capable of harsh pants and broken sobs. You slump against your bed and let your eyes flutter shut as your body and mind return together as one. The belt around your throat slackens and you can hear the muted jingle of metal against metal as it lands on the unoccupied space just inches from your bound hands.

Scarcely aware, you register Akashi sliding himself free of your body, his cock softer than before and leaving room for his emission to escape from your entrance. You keep your eyes shut tight as the viscous fluid leaks down to the curve of your thighs, unconsciously chasing the trajectory of the slick rivulets.

Akashi rests a hand on the small of your back and begins peppering a trail of damp kisses up the length of your spine. You shiver and a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, staying on your face even when Akashi's teeth cut into the slight protrusion of your shoulder-blade.

“You're going to be trouble,” Akashi says when he reaches the nape of your neck. He buries his nose in the tangled fall of your hair and moans a sound of satisfaction.

“Why?” you ask, losing the note of concern to the fatigue claiming your unified existence.

Akashi chuckles and presses a kiss to your temple before wrapping his arms around your waist. “Because I'm going to spoil you in every way I possibly can.” He moves back, pulling your listless body up with him. He turns you around and if not for his hands offering guidance, you'd be tripping over your own feet.

Akashi begins undoing the knot at your wrists, his focus unshakable as he continues speaking. “Not to mention, I'm possessive by nature and I won't be sympathetic toward anyone or anything that tries to come between us.”

You stare at him through moonlit eyes, his face bathing in starlight as his voice burns hole in the frame you've painted him in. You can feel lightning in his fingertips, jumping each time he touches you. You watch his lips move as he speaks, the magnitude of his adoration for you haunting you like the ghosts in your dreams. You should be frightened but you only want to press him between the pages of a hardcover book to dry like the flowers that sit in a vase by the window. You want to keep him forever.

“I don't want you to be,” you blurt, eyes bright and focused. “I want to belong to you. I don't care what happens as long as I'm with you.”

Akashi strokes your cheek, then fits his hand against the pulse thrumming through your neck. “I'll keep you by my side until the day I die. I have no intention of ever letting you go. I love you, ____.”

You smile softly and let Akashi wrap his arms around your waist in a warm embrace. You bury your face in his shoulder and close your eyes, taking in the scent of his skin and the promise of forever. “I love you too, Seijūrō.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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